Maybe That's Just My Type
by Aessedia87
Summary: A mixture of series 3, with look backs at series 2... and what happened during the two years Sherlock was away. Could be M for future chapters! Series 3 spoilers as well.
1. Chapter 1

SPOILERS FOR SERIES 3!

Molly Hooper looked out of her flat's window. It was raining and the sky was grey and violent. It almost seemed that the weather outside reflected the turmoil going on inside her mind. It was fine to avoid the topic for a while, but now that he was back in her life… feelings and memories were rushing back.

She looked down at the ring on her finger; she had been turning it over and over for the past hour—while her thoughts raced ungracefully through her mind. He was the one person in her life that made her feel every emotion on the planet, and he was also the one person that she couldn't get out of her mind.

She startled when the front door to her flat opened and her fiancé Tom walked through. He smiled at her while shaking the water from his hair and removing his coat.

"Hi beautiful, how long have you been home?"

Molly flinched slightly at his words; she didn't want him to know that she had left work early in an attempt to make some space between her…and Sherlock.

"Just a few minutes actually, sorry I didn't call when I l left," she smiled, but knew it didn't reach her eyes. Honestly, she was hoping Tom would go to his flat tonight and give her some time alone. She didn't want to deal with the nagging part that kept telling her Tom wasn't who she wanted.

She felt her phone buzz and reached into her pocket to grab it, almost laughing when she saw it was exactly the person she was trying to avoid for the time being.

"Aren't you going to answer that?"

Molly tucked her phone back into her pocket after silencing it, "Sherlock knows I'm home for the day, whatever it is… I'm sure he can wait until tomorrow."

Several hours passed, and after making a quick meal of soup and sandwiches, Tom seemed to take the hint that Molly wasn't in the mood for company. He gave her a quick kiss and made his way out, hoping that she would be in a better mood tomorrow.

After dressing in a comfy pink sweater and pajama bottoms, Molly curled into bed with her cat Toby, sighing happily as she finally settled under her comforter and grabbed one of her tattered books.

"Honestly, I don't call if it isn't for something important."

Molly shrieked and threw her book at the bedroom door, the reaction caused Toby to flee in panic, and for the man standing in the frame of her bedroom to turn around and stare at the object that had come close to knocking him in the face.

"A book? Who throws a book?"

"People tend to throw whatever they have when they are scared out of their wits! SHERLOCK, HOW DID YOU GET IN MY HOUSE?"

Sherlock's face seemed puzzled for a moment as he dug in his pocket. He produced a small gold key. "You gave this to me after the fall, I'm sure you remember me staying with you for a while."

Molly waited a moment for her heart rate to calm down. Of course she remembered when he stayed! However, it seemed she never did get the key from him, even though she had a permanent reminder set up on her smart phone.

"Well yes, but that doesn't mean you can stroll in at all hours of the night, you should call first!"

"I did call."

"That was hours ago!"

"You should have answered then."

Molly flattened herself on the bed and threw the covers over her head. He was so frustrating! All she needed was a night wrapped in the comfort of her favorite book… not one where she was scared out of her mind, and confronted by the very man who was causing vivid daydreams to race unceremoniously though her mind.

She felt the bed sink as Sherlock settled on the opposite side of her.

"Molly, I just realized that I may have given you quite the fright".

He was greeted by a "humph" from under the blanket, which encouraged him to continue.

"I do apologize for scaring you and Toby for the matter… I didn't realize cats could shriek that loudly."

He poked at the lump under the covers, hoping to rouse her.

After a few moments, she threw back the covers, causing her hair to fly wildly in all directions.

"Now, what was it that you needed, and couldn't wait until tomorrow?"

Sherlock smiled and produced a small notepad from his pocket.

"I need funny stories about John, the wedding will be here soon... and I feel the only stories that I think are funny, will scare the crowd."

He stopped and looked at her blank expression, "Judging from your body language, you want to throw another book at me."

Before she could answer he spoke again, "Honestly, I figured I would have a better reaction from you than the one I received from Lestrade."

"What…? You know, never mind, I'm not in the mood." She rustled her hair some, causing it to fall back over her shoulders. "Sherlock, all I need is a night alone, to curl up with my frightened cat, and escape the world for a few hours."

"Why? Because you doubt you're…" he stopped mid-sentence when he noticed her face turn a ghastly shade of white.

"Honestly, Molly I just need you for a few hours, and then I'll be out of your hair".

"Let me put on a spot of tea, but just this once! I won't take to you coming over at any time of the day."

She felt the bed lift up, and finally was able to catch her breath. She often questioned why she allowed him to get away with so much, but at the same time it was something she wasn't ready to answer.

* * *

After several hours of funny stories, she felt herself dozing. What time was it? 1, 2 in the morning? She needed sleep, and Sherlock seemed to want none of that.

It couldn't have been more than 10 minutes before she realized she wasn't on the living room couch anymore. She was eye level with her bookshelf, and her lamp, and realized she was cocooned inside a strong pair of arms.

She must have fallen asleep, and now he was carrying her to bed.

She tried to look up, but the fatigue wouldn't allow for it. She closed her eyes once more and inhaled his strange scent.

It was a mixture of tobacco, cleaning products (which she assumed where from Mrs. Hudson) and peppermint. She also took into account that he was a lot stronger than he put on. She weighed a good 120 pounds, and he was carrying her at ease.

She felt him stop and bend down slightly, and suddenly she was surrounded by her sheets and the comforter. She opened her eyes slightly and watched as he turned off her bedside lamp. He then turned for the door, but was stopped by her voice.

"Sherlock?"

He turned slightly, watching her from the corner of his eye.

"Thank you."


	2. Chapter 2

SPOILERS FOR SERIES 3!

Molly was engrossed in her work, her mind was racing after being carried into her room the night before by the world's only consulting detective. She couldn't let Tom know that Sherlock had stayed so late, he was already suspicious of her behavior from the past when she had an embarrassing and girlish crush on Sherlock.

She was greeted by a knock on the door and watched as Greg Lestrade entered the room.

"Hi Greg" she smiled warmly.

"Hi Molls, just wanted to pop in and let you know about a little shindig we're throwing for the soon-to-be married Mr. and Mrs. Watson."

"Oh? Where will it be held?"

"Uh, well that's the thing… We were going to hold it at a local pub, but it seemed a little classless you know?"

"Yes…" Molly had a sneaking suspicion she knew where this conversation was headed.

"So, what's your question then Greg?"

"You think we could have the small gathering at your place? God knows no one wants to do it at Baker Street, that place is still a little dusty."

Molly smiled, honestly her apartment wasn't big enough for a group, and having people over would mean she would need to tidy up… but the words slipped out of her mouth before she could stop herself, "That's fine, I'll just need some help getting things ready."

"Great! Molly you really are the sweetest, Tom is a lucky man!"

She smiled, she guessed Tom WAS a lucky man. She wasn't a bad catch, she wasn't ugly and she took fairly good care of herself. However, sometimes she felt like he was getting the better end of the deal—and that was a feeling that nagged at her. It wasn't that Tom wasn't handsome and clever and witty, he just wasn't…

"What day then?" she needed to get her head out of those sort of thoughts.

"This Saturday?"

Molly looked down at her watch, it was already Wednesday.

"That'll be fine." She grumbled to herself, it really wasn't enough time, but she wanted to please everyone.

Lestrade strode to the door, but turned quickly before leaving. "I'll call Sherlock and tell him to give you a hand, he did used to live with you for a time being, so it's the least he can do."

Before she could tell him no, he was out the door.

She cringed at the thought, Tom didn't know Sherlock had lived with her for a short period before hunting down the rest of Moriarty's network, and it was really something she never wanted him to find out.

She lay in bed that evening, contemplating the day. She really didn't mind hosting the party; in fact it gave her something to think about.

Ever since he had returned into her life, Molly hadn't been able to think straight. Her mind kept racing to those first few months when he had stayed at her home. He was bruised and battered, not on the outside… but inside, which was a place Sherlock didn't let many people see.

She remembered the last night he had stayed with her. He was lying on the couch as usual, and she was tossing in her bed. She wanted to speak with him, ask him where he was going and for how long. At that point she was hopelessly in love with him, and she was afraid she'd never see him again.

She had finally made the decision to just stay in bed and be silent, when she heard the door knob to her bedroom squeak.

She closed her eyes, but quickly peeked just enough to see him standing in the doorway. He seemed to be wrestling with himself, because he would start to walk into the bedroom, and then stand still like a statue.

Finally, after few moments, he sat on the edge and looked toward her.

"What's wrong?" she had asked him quietly. She remembered holding her breath to the point where she thought she was going to pass out.

He said nothing, but leaned down and kissed her gently on the forehead. She expected him to pull away, but his lips lingered there for a moment, before slowly and deliberately landing themselves on her lips.

She remembered his soft lips, and the gentle way he kissed her. She also remembered her night dress slipping off- and the intimate night they spent together.

Sherlock Holmes had made sweet, passionate love to her, and neither of them had said a word about it since that night.

When she acted as "John" after his return their interaction was normal, not strained, not even embarrassing. He seemed happy for her.

Everything would have been fine in her mind if he hadn't leaned down and kissed her cheek. The feel of his lips on her skin ignited feelings in her that she hadn't felt in a long time.

She figured teasing him about her and Tom having "quite a lot of sex" would ignite some type of reaction in him, instead he blew it off, feigning confusion.

And now present day she was supposed to invite him over to help her decorate for the party, yet she was terrified of being alone with him… again.

He had carried her to bed just a few short nights ago. If he was human, he would have HAD to remember what happened in that same bedroom just two short years ago.

Sometimes she wondered if he had made love to her just to say thanks. She knew at the time that he was aware of her feelings for him, but thank you sex was never supposed to be intimate. It was supposed to be quick and passionless.

But her night with him had proven to be anything but.


	3. Chapter 3

SPOILERS FOR SERIES 3!

His was caressing her body with kisses; the smile on his face was infectious. He was truly enjoying himself and she wanted to scream with happiness.

Molly Hooper woke in sweat. That was the third time in weeks that she had dreamt about the consulting detective. He had been conquering her mind since he showed up in the locker room at St. Barts.

She shakily lay back down and as she was re-fluffing her pillow, she noticed she wasn't alone. Someone was in her room.

She quietly reached over to her nightstand in an attempt to throw some type of object at the criminal—hoping he hadn't noticed that she had spotted him-when he suddenly rose and made his way to the bedroom door.

She stayed absolutely still, wishing tonight she had asked Tom to sleep over. She closed her eyes, and moments later when she re-opened them, the intruder was gone.

Molly quickly turned on her bedside table and grabbed her mobile… without thinking she immediately dialed the one person she knew would be able to help her.

While the phone was dialing, Molly grabbed a baseball bat from her closet and inspected the rest of her house. She noticed the door was un-locked, but there didn't seem to be anyone in her house.

"Molly, what on earth are you calling me for?" Sherlock sounded annoyed, but amazingly awake. After a moment of not answering she heard the concern dip into his voice when he said her name again.

"Sher-Sherlock! Someone has been in my home."

It took about 20 minutes for him to arrive. He quickly knocked on the door, and after a moment let himself in. Molly could hear sirens in the distance, and knew DI Lestrade was on his way. Sherlock stood in the doorway until his eyes connected with hers on the couch.

She had her legs curled up underneath her while she sat on the couch, she was wearing an oversized t-shirt and her face was extremely pale.

He made his way over to her on the couch, sitting next to her tentatively.

"At first, I thought it might have been you."

Sherlock half-smiled, poor Molly… she was always trying to be positive, even in the darkest situations.

His smile quickly faded when she began to cry. She wrapped her arms around her legs and dipped her face down, while her body was wracked by sobs.

Quietly he grabbed her hand and pulled him toward her, which to Sherlock's confusion caused her to cry harder. She grabbed the lapels of his jacket and leaned her head against his chest. He could feel her tears dampening his shirt underneath, but it didn't matter to him. He was angry that someone would break into her home. He was surprised at the almost animalistic rage he was experiencing under his calm demeanor. His ears pricked up at the sound of sirens approaching, they would be arriving within two minutes, and during that time he needed to be sure he could get everything out of Molly that he could manage.

"Molly?" he realized he was a bit muffled, and was speaking softly into her hair. She leaned back and looked at him with tear-stricken eyes. He hated to see her in pain, and he hated himself for feeling such a foolish emotion.

"Molly, I need you to visualize what happened tonight, so that you can explain exactly what happened to me."

She sniffled, but continued her vice-like hold on his lapels, "I woke up because I was having…." She stopped and swallowed, causing Sherlock to wonder what could be the reason for her sudden discomfort. He made a mental note to ask her later. "I was having a dream… and it startled me awake." She readjusted her position, so that she was now curled around Sherlock, "As I was lying back down, I noticed him sitting in the corner of the bedroom. He seemed to be looking straight on. I'm not sure if he noticed that I was awake."

"You're coming home with me" the words were out before he could regret them. He knew deep down that she would be safest with him… and not her excuse for a fiancée.

Molly jumped when the front door was swung open, first Lestrade entered, and then Tom.

"Speak of the devil." Sherlock mumbled.

"What was that?" Molly asked while she untangled herself from his embrace. At her loss he felt cold all the sudden and mentally stabbed himself for allowing his mind palace to be filled with the essence that was Molly Hooper. He hated how he smelled of her fruity body wash, and the fact that his shirt was still a little damp from her tears. He especially hated how his body wanted to react to her, and the emotions he was feeling while he watched her embrace Tom in a quick hug.

"I'm fine Tom, I'm okay." She looked over her shoulder to Sherlock who was dusting off his Belstaff, more than likely he was brushing off cat hair.

Tom opened Molly's side closet and pulled out an overnight bag. "You'll stay with me for a while, until things are safe in the apartment."

Molly turned and shot Sherlock a death glare at the loud cough/gargle he made after hearing Tom announce that he would be taking care of Molly. She quickly tried to think of a good reason why she should stay with Sherlock when he butted in.

"Actually, Molly has agreed to stay with me."

Tom raised one of eyebrows and quickly looked over at Molly, who for the moment wasn't meeting his eye.

"Has she?"

"Tom, I'm sure you'd be the first to figure out that if Molly is being targeted, she certainly wouldn't be safe with her fiancée… that's the first place any criminal would look."

Molly almost breathed a sigh of relief when Lestrade piped in agreeing with Sherlock.

"Molly, if you'll gather your things, we'll be on our way."

"Now wait a minute Sherlock, she needs to give a statement!"

Sherlock turned quickly to Lestrade, "She's told me the accounts of the evening, Molly is our friend and is already traumatized enough, and do you really want to bombard her with more questions that are certainly going to keep her up tonight in fear of her life?"

"Uh, no… be on your way Molly, and be careful."

"Molly, is this really what you want?" Tom had now grabbed her by the shoulders, forcing her to look into his eyes.

"I'll be fine Tom, it'll just be for a few days. Plus, Sherlock is right, we don't want whomever this was tracking us down to your flat. I'll be perfectly safe."

He kissed her lightly on the lips, and let her walk past them into the bedroom to retrieve her clothing. Sherlock, not wishing to make small conversation ventured out the front door, but not before stopping to grab Toby.

The small cat meowed in appreciation as Sherlock tucked him gently into the front of his coat, keeping him warm from the bitter night cold.

After a few moments, Molly reappeared wearing a faded pair of jeans and an overly large sweat shirt. Her hair had been pulled back loosely, and her bag was slung over her shoulder.

She smiled when she saw Sherlock, Toby's head was popped out from beneath his coat and he meowed when he saw Molly.

It took just a moment before Sherlock could hail a taxi, and now she was sitting comfortably, facing Sherlock as they ventured to Baker Street.

"Thank you" she said quietly, breaking the comfortable silence in the taxi.

"For what, Molly? I only did what anyone would do. Plus, I do have a point, you don't need to be left alone, and you don't need to be left alone with" he paused for a moment before saying his name "Tom."

She smirked, "Yes, well he'll be on pins and needles until I'm back with him again… he can be suffocating sometimes", at her admission she blushed, she hadn't really wanted Sherlock to know that secretly Tom hovered more than the typical fiancée should.

A smile grazed Sherlock's face and stayed there until they reached Baker Street. They were greeted by John Watson, who had appeared to be waiting for them in Mrs. Hudson's flat.

John opened the door of the taxi and helped Molly with her few things, "Molly, are you alright?"

She nodded her head, and was ushered up the stairs by the pair. She soon found herself back in the flat that Sherlock Holmes called home. She shuddered at the smiley face spray-painted onto the wall paper, because the thought immediately made her think of Moriarty.

"Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson's voice rang from below as she made her way up the stairs to 221b.

Upon entering Mrs. Hudson gave Molly a tight squeeze and smoothed down her clothing, "Now dear, don't worry about a thing! You are perfectly safe with these two! I'll make us a cuppa."

Molly smiled at the older woman and thanked her for the gesture. She watched as she made her way into the kitchen, completely oblivious to the fact that there was a dummy being hanged from the ceiling.

"Molly, you call if you need anything. Sherlock and I will interview you more tomorrow, but for now I think we all need to get some sleep."

Molly watched as John shrugged on his coat, "Thank you, John."

Sherlock sat in his chair, picked up his violin and idly plucked at the strings, "John, I don't need sleep."

John patted down his coat and gave Molly a kiss on the cheek before turning to his friend, "It's been a few days now Sherlock, do us a favor and get some shuteye before you resort to other means to fill your boredom."

A small smile graced Sherlock's lips and he waved his friend off with the bow of his violin.

Mrs. Hudson reappeared with a steam hot cup and handed one to Molly, and then to Sherlock who was looking out of the window, with his violin perched neatly beside him. He took the cup and gave her a rare smile.

"I'll leave you two alone, I'm sure you have lots to talk about."

Sherlock made a noise that sounded like a yes, but continued to stare out the window, sipping lightly on his tea. Now, with Mrs. Hudson back downstairs, Molly realized she was truly alone with the consulting detective. It made her uncomfortable, in the fact that he wouldn't turn around, but just stood there drinking his tea.

After a moment, Molly ventured upstairs in search of John's old room. She needed some sleep and whistled for Toby to come and join her. She felt safe being with Sherlock, but when he spaced out like he did, she wasn't sure he would hear her scream if suddenly someone jumped through her window in an attempt to murder her.

With that final thought, she lay down on the sheets that smelled faintly of mildew, and reminded herself that she would be fine… she just needed to make it through tonight.

What seemed like only moments later, Sherlock turned around with a question for Molly, who he assumed was still sitting in John's chair, sipping on her tea that Mrs. Hudson had just brewed. However, he realized he was alone, and that Molly must have gone upstairs during his space out.

He set his tea down and walked toward the flight of stairs that led to her room, positive that she would be awake and ready to tell him more details. He had stood there for what apparently had been hours, buried in his mind palace. Who had come in? He needed to investigate her flat, but at the same time he didn't feel comfortable leaving her alone, and he certainly didn't feel comfortable with the idiots at Scotland Yard doing the investigating either.

He slowly opened the door to her bedroom and was greeted by her sleeping form. She wasn't completely covered up with the blanket, and Toby was lying directly on her chest.

However, she looked peaceful and her face didn't portray any of the fear that he saw earlier. She was comfortable, safe and presumably happy.

He smiled to himself, and then bent down to pull the covers up more. He was greeted by a small mew from Toby, who adjusted his position as the blanket was pulled over him and his owner.

Sherlock knew this would be difficult. He hadn't forgotten what had happened between him and Molly, but he knew at the time that he wouldn't have been able to give her what he wanted. However, she had grown on him, and soon he found that the voice in his head was turning from John… to her.

When he first met her, she was shy and bended easily to his will. He realized now, that she was so much more than that, she was strong, and helped him when he was completely at a loss. He owed her so much, and hated that he hurt her.

He had tried for so long to hide those thoughts, he didn't want sentiment, nor did he need it. But as he stood there and watched her sigh in her sleep, he knew he wouldn't be able to deny it for too much longer.


	4. Chapter 4

Molly awoke in a haze. She stretched lightly as the early morning sun streamed in through the blinds. She noticed dust particles floating lazily through the air, and that's when she realized where she was. It all came back to her quickly, the dream, the man in her room, staying with Sherlock. She reached out looking for Toby, but he was nowhere to be found. She stood, and shivered slightly and reached for the first item of clothing that was lying about. She then tied her hair back, and walked down the stairs into the main part of the flat.

For the moment it seemed like she was alone, and a shiver of fear ran through her. Wasn't she supposed to be staying with Sherlock for protection? He couldn't be going off and leaving her alone.

She rounded the corner and made her way into the kitchen, only to be greeted by Sherlock who was examining something in his microscope. His sudden appearance made her gasp out loud, igniting a reaction from him.

He turned slowly, and she saw that Toby was curled up in his lap asleep, "I think your cat loves me" he said while looking down at his sleeping form, "I've never met an animal that needs this much attention."

"I'm sorry, Sherlock, he's usually not like that." Molly made her way over, attempting to shoo the fat feline away, but Sherlock waved her away with his hand, "I never said it bothered me."

Molly smiled, glad that her pet was easily adjusting to their new life at Baker Street. Sherlock turned back to his experiment, "Mrs. Hudson will be bringing up tea shortly. Apparently she does that."

Molly sat at the chair across from him, craning her head to see what he was observing. He glanced up quickly and saw her inquisitive look, "It's a piece of your wall paper. I snagged it before we left last night. Figured there may be a trace of something on there… but everything in your house seems to be covered in cat hair..."

Before she could respond, she heard Mrs. Hudson coming in with what sounded like a tray of tea and biscuits.

"Ah, Mrs. Hudson, Thank you."

"Now Sherlock, you need to remember, I don't mind bringing you tea, but I'm not going to continue bringing you breakfast… not your housekeeper."

She smiled and looked at Molly, "I'll bring breakfast as long as you're staying with him. God knows you'd probably starve with the little amount of food that's kept in this house."

Sherlock looked up from the microscope to take a quick sip of tea, "That reminds me Molly, we'll need to go shopping for clothes and groceries. I'm sure you'll want to be in something more comfortable than what you're wearing."

Before Molly could respond he continued, "You'll need to dress differently, maybe even dye your hair… a bit darker of a color. We don't want anyone getting the idea that you're living with me."

"And why is it so bad to live with you?"

"He doesn't have a lot of friend's dear, except for you and John... And myself of course. Any normal landlord would have kicked him out years ago after what he did to my wall."

"So you want me to change who I am?"

"Precisely"

Everyone turned at the sound of the older Holmes brother. He strolled in, dressed immaculately as usual, and an umbrella under his arm.

"Well done Ms. Hooper, I'm surprised to see you follow along so quickly."

Sherlock growled, "Mycroft..."

"What? That's not an insult, especially when she can follow along with you, little brother."

He turned and stared at the pathologist who looked like she wanted to slap him across the face, "You're a rare one" he said while examining her up and down, "You can stand to put up with him, and have freely agreed to live with him."

"Mycroft, leave Molly alone" the tone in Sherlock's voice was sharp enough to get Mycroft to look him square in the eyes.

"Pressure point hum?"

Sherlock's eyes widened some before changing the subject, "Now why are you in my flat, insulting my pathologist, and not on the treadmill like you should be?"

Mycroft held a hand over his stomach before he continued, "Nothing except that I have a few people who are no concern to you, watching this flat and that of Ms. Hooper's".

Molly piped up at this news, "Do you think they know I'm staying here?"

"Not yet, but heed Sherlock's advice and change your look up some, not dramatically… but enough that you can at least go out in public if need be."

He turned and strolled to the door, "Oh and I've informed your job that you've taken ill, and will be out for some time. So needn't worry there."

With that he left, just as quickly as he arrived.

Sherlock stood quickly and closed the front door to his flat, "When you're ready, we'll head out for some new items."

She nodded and headed to the washroom down the hall, closing the door she leaned against the counter staring at herself in the mirror. A completely new Molly.

Of course, she would be the same inside, except for no cherry printed jumpers, or strawberry colored hair.

She sighed and started to remove her clothing for a shower. She really needed time to soak up all the details in her life that had gone astray.

She turned the water on, and let it heat up to a comfortable temperature before stepping in. Thankfully, Sherlock had a bottle of shampoo available for her use and some bland body wash.

She was lost in her thoughts when the door to the bathroom opened. She immediately froze, hoping to god it wasn't who she thought it was.

She peeked her head out of the shower to see Sherlock wiping the condensation off the mirror while holding a razor in his other hand.

"Sherlock!" her voice peaked at an abnormally high level, causing him to cringe slightly.

"Molly, I need to shave… plus…" his voice wavered off as he turned back to the mirror and began to shave delicate strokes along his cheek.

She tucked the shower curtain back in place, making sure it wouldn't slip, "Plus what?"

She received no response, but really she hadn't been expecting one. She heard the bathroom door close after a few minutes and she peeked her head out to make sure he was gone. With that she turned off the water, locked the bathroom door and got out, wrapping a towel firmly around her form.

Before he had barged into the bathroom, she hadn't really thought much of going back up to her room in just a towel, but now… she felt nervous.

She quickly opened the door and scurried up to her room, when she thought she was safe, she closed the door and locked it.

Turning around, she let out a scream at the sight of Sherlock sitting on her bed, rummaging through her few small things in the bag.

"SHERLOCK!"

"Molly, honestly… I need to make sure you won't try and hide any of your hideous clothing from me. Apparently, all you bothered to pack were a pair of sweatpants and an oversized jumper… you know this doesn't fit you right?"

She rushed over to the bed, keeping a mindful eye on her towel and grabbed his arm, "Out! Let me get dressed in peace!"

He let her push her to the bedroom door before saying, "You can borrow one of my shirts if you like, that way your clothes might at least fit a little better."

"Out, out, out!"

He lifted his hands in defeat and let her push him the rest of the way out of the bedroom. She locked the door for the second time, and let her towel drop ungraciously to the ground. It seemed like she was already getting a taste of what living with Sherlock would be like.

* * *

20 minutes later, Molly emerged from her bedroom, wearing the over-sized jumper and her sweatpants. She greeted Sherlock downstairs who shook his head at her and handed her a smaller jacket.

"One of Mary's, I noticed you didn't bring anything warm enough for the outside conditions."

She started to slide it on, when he stopped her and took the initiative to help her slide into the jacket. He even lifted the collar up saying that she would be warmer this way.

She smiled at his gentle gesture, not used to the softer side of Sherlock Holmes. She followed him down the stairs and waited as he hailed a cab. He then directed the driver to "Harrods" citing that if she couldn't find what she needed there, than she wouldn't be able to find anything.

The day flew by and the only word that kept coming to Molly's mind was "comfortable". He stood there while she picked at the clothing racks, he would give his opinion, and also grab items out of her hand that had too much fruit on it.

He even helped her at the hair salon, and insisted the stylist only dye her hair a shade slightly darker than what it was previously. He said he didn't want her to lose too much of herself, and since this was only temporary he wanted her to feel comfortable.

He bought her lunch, even though he didn't eat anything, and followed her into the pet store so that she could ogle at the kittens and puppies on display.

Even though she was blissfully unaware, he was keeping his guard up at all times. He knew Mycroft's men were following them, and he felt safe having her out in public… but it wouldn't last. He knew he couldn't take her out like this again, and because of that he let her enjoy the day as much as possible.

He knew Molly was aware of that as well, and he watched as she picked up treats and goodies, presumably so that she could distract herself from the boredom that she knew would ensue.

When they arrived back at Baker Street, she was exhausted and excused herself to go upstairs for a nap.

Sherlock watched her retreat up the stairs, as he grabbed his violin. He stood in front of the window once more, contemplating what his next move would be.

There was no way this could be the work of Moriarty. He had worked for two years to take down his network. He had bruises and scars on his back to back the statement up. He watched Moriarty pull the trigger, but something kept nagging at him—telling him that something wasn't done.

He was plucking at his strings when a piercing scream broke the silence.

"Molly!"

He rushed up the stairs as the screaming continued, he KNEW he shouldn't have left her alone, not even to nap.

When he arrived at the door, he found that it was locked. He rammed into it, causing the door to break off from the frame.

He looked around the room for a sign of any intruder, but was greeted by a tear-stricken Molly, who was visibly shaking.

He rushed to her, and she fell into his arms, crying. "Molly, tell me what happened? Was there someone here?"

She shook her head, feeling slightly embarrassed, "No… I had a bad dream, about someone being here... and when I woke up, I really thought there was… but I guess it was just my dream."

She cried into his shirt, "I'm sorry Sherlock, look at the door… and your heart is racing. I didn't mean to scare you."

"Hush now, it's not a bother."

He looked around the room, not fully convinced that someone hadn't been here. With that he lifted the small pathologist into his arms, and proceeded to carry her down the stairs. She looked up at him with a surprised look on her face but said nothing as he carried her into his bedroom.

"You can sleep in here." He cut her off as she began to protest, "I don't sleep much anyway."

He turned to leave when he felt her small hand grab his arm, "Please, stay with me for a while."

He hesitated for a moment, not wanting to show his weakness to her- but obliged and pulled back the covers to join her in bed.

She curled up to him, wrapping her arm around his waist, and gasped when he pulled her closer as well. He was warm, and safe… And after a few moments she was sound asleep. He promised himself there, that no one would hurt her. He would protect her like he protected John.

He looked down at her as she snuggled deeper into his shoulder, a smile plastered across her face. He guessed it would be okay to sleep for a bit, it had been a few days and the warmth of her body was intoxicating.

* * *

When she woke several hours later, she realized she wasn't alone. Sherlock Holmes was nestled nicely beside her; his left hand was on her hip, his fingers curled around her waist. She wasn't sure if he was asleep or not, so she didn't move. She blushed slightly as she looked down at her clothing; she had taken off her sweatpants and was wearing just the over-sized jumper and her knickers. She hadn't had a chance to change into her clothes because she had been so exhausted. She squeaked when she felt the fingers on her waist tighten, and she watched as he turned his heard toward her slightly.

"You got me to sleep."

She nodded, "So I did."

He chuckled in his deep baritone voice, and Molly realized he wasn't releasing his hold on her—at least until she heard the familiar voice of her fiancée drift from downstairs.

"Oh. My. God. Tom is here!"

"I wouldn't quite say that."

Molly panicked, here she was in barely any clothing, lying in bed with Sherlock Holmes, and her fiancée was coming up the stairs. She started to move, but he gripped her tighter.

"Sherlock, Tom is coming up the stairs; I can't let him see us like this!"

"And what precisely have we done wrong? Last thing I remember is you having a nightmare. If anything, he'll be happy."

"Ha!" and with that Molly shot up out of the bed and ran from his bedroom, just to be greeted by Tom who was standing in the living room.

"Molly? Why aren't you wearing pants?"

She turned at the sound of the bedroom door, and out walked Sherlock, tousled hair and all.

"Hi, Tom. Tea?"

"Now wait a bloody minute, what in the world were you doing in bed with my half-naked fiancée?!"

Molly blushed a shade of crimson and walked toward Tom in an attempt to calm him down. Mrs. Hudson appeared in the doorway, obviously confused as to what all the noise was about.

"Oh, dear! Obviously I'm not needed in this conversation!"

"Well?" Tom's face had turned red; he was snatching off his scarf, his eyes fixed to Sherlock's.

"Tom, Sherlock was simply comforting me… I had a bad dream, he kicked down the door to my bedroom upstairs, and then he took me to his… it's definitely not what it looks like."

"Yeah, isn't he the virgin?"

Molly winced at the nickname that the Moriarty had coined for him. She was about to speak when Sherlock piped up, "A lovely nickname yes, but then again the papers can think what they want about me."

"It's true though, isn't it? I shouldn't have to worry if you're sleeping in bed with Molly, because you wouldn't do anything, anyway!"

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

Molly slammed herself into Tom when he attempted to lunge at Sherlock, "Tom! Calm down, nothing happened! He's a dear friend of mine!"

She pushed him back slightly, "Plus, you're not even supposed to be here! You could be jeopardizing everything Sherlock is working so hard to prevent."

With that he stormed off, taking the stairs two at a time. Molly quickly ran up the stairs to her room and after a moment she was back down wearing slip-ons and her sweat pants.

"I need to talk to Tom" she told Sherlock as she scurried after him down the stairs.

He wanted to stop her, reach out and tell her he was a waste of time, but he did nothing, except warn her not to stray from Baker Street.

He watched from the window as she grabbed him downstairs, he was attempting to hail a cab when she stopped him.

Their loud arguing could be heard from his flat, and Sherlock watched as Tom's hands flew into the air, obviously very upset with Molly.

He also watched as Tom struck her across the face, and that's when he snapped.

He grabbed his Belstaff and flew at lightning speed down the stairs, walking to the curb he could hear Molly telling him not to… but his fist connected with Tom's jaw and he flew to the ground.

Sherlock whistled for the closest cab, picked Tom up by the collar and shoved him in, "Leave Baker Street at once, and don't even dream about coming back." He looked to Molly who was holding her swelling face, "Unless of course you want to know what it's like to be dropped out of a window."

With that he shut the door, and the cab sped away.

He turned to Molly, and put his arm over her shoulders while he walked her inside. Sherlock also whistled for Mrs. Hudson who brought a cold packet of peas up the stairs to his flat.

Sherlock sat Molly down and handed her the peas, she was now holding them to her bruised face and wincing at the cold.

"Sherlock, I can't even begin to thank you."

He snarled and turned his body to face her, "Any man that would strike a woman like that." He stopped and played a few violent notes on his violin. "Disgusting."

Mrs. Hudson grabbed Sherlock's arm in an affectionate manner, "We all know what happened to the last man who hurt one of your girls." She smiled and bent to give him a quick kiss on the cheek.

"How's your face, dear? Feeling any better?"

Molly pulled the peas off her face for a moment, right now she couldn't feel anything… but Sherlock had already told her she would probably be left with a black eye.

"I guess I deserved that, sleeping in bed with another man."

Sherlock stood suddenly and walked directly over to her, he knelt down and looked Molly straight in the eyes, "No, you did not deserve anything remotely close to that. You were being comforted by an old friend; your life is in real danger… Molly Hooper, you did nothing wrong."

At that moment Molly wanted to kiss him, she wanted him to take her into his bedroom and help her forget the past few days. Her desire for him must have been evident in her eyes, because suddenly the concerned demeanor on his face changed to a darker look.

He stood quickly, and walked back to his chair, leaving Molly with a moment of disappointment. She didn't need to think about that now. What had happened between them was in the past. Right now, he was a concerned friend, looking after the one person who had changed his life for the better. She needed to remember what her place was, and that if Sherlock hadn't mentioned their night together, than it probably meant he didn't remember it.


	5. Chapter 5

Almost immediately, flowers started arriving at Baker Street. Roses, tulips, dandelions… all in a way to apologize for his rash behavior.

Sherlock found his way to dispose of them; he'd use his blow torch, toss them out the window, and even burn them in the fireplace…. Only after Molly had said she didn't want them.

She was mad, and hurt—and bruised for that matter. She had been tending to a black eye for the past two days, and it didn't seem to be getting any better. She cringed when she looked in the mirror, now with her darker hair, the black eye popped out like a sore thumb—and much to her dislike, it was starting to turn an ugly shade of green.

She was sitting on his leather couch when he arrived back from Scotland Yard; he was working close with Lestrade to figure out who could have been inside her flat. However he never left her for more than an hour at a time, even with Mrs. Hudson keeping an eye on her.

She looked up as he came in; he was taking off his infamous coat and unwrapping his blue scarf, "Any news?"

He hung his scarf up and then came and joined her on the sofa, "It seems someone else was in your apartment while you've been gone."

A cold shiver ran up her spine, "I thought Mycroft's men were watching my flat?"

"Humm, yes… but they wouldn't stop anyone from entering. The problem however, is that they never _saw_ anyone enter."

Before she could respond he continued, "Don't worry though, you're completely safe with me."

She locked eyes with him and he smiled gently at her, however their intimate moment was quickly pushed aside at the sound of knocking on the front door.

Sherlock pushed off from the couch and quickly descended the stairs, Mrs. Hudson was thanking someone and when she turned to face Sherlock she was holding a vase of roses, with a teddy bear attached.

Sherlock frowned and called for Molly who popped her head out the door, "Burn them please, but if there are any chocolates- bring those upstairs!"

"You heard her" Sherlock turned to Mrs. Hudson and snatched the little box of chocolates out of the teddy bear's hands.

He walked back up the stairs and tossed the chocolates to Molly who was now curled back up on the sofa. He actually needed to get work done today, and went to sit in his chair. He concentrated and was taken to his mind palace, this time the image was of Molly's apartment.

He scanned the place, looking for any sign of a clue, everything was left untouched—but the burglar had come in unnoticed. What was he searching for? Why hadn't he taken anything?

He scanned the contents of her apartment in his mind, but his concentration was broken with the sound of giggling coming from the pathologist who was sitting cross-legged on his couch. She was using the wrapper from the chocolate to tease Toby. He was running around in circles and batting at the thing like his life depended on it.

Sherlock smiled, despite his irritation for being disturbed and watched her for a moment before falling back into his mind.

"I miss work."

Her voice brought him to… and he realized she was now changed and showered and was sitting across from him in John's old chair.

His hands ached slightly from holding them to his temple for so long, but he eyed her with uncertainty, not sure where she was headed with this conversation.

"I've always known that I'm good at what I do, and now," she stopped and fiddled with her pajama pant, "Now I feel useless."

He didn't say anything, just readjusted his position and crossed his leg, he glanced quickly at the clock and noticed it was after 3 in the morning.

"I hope I'm not too much of a bother."

He turned his head to look at her, "Why would you think that?"

"I've had to move my entire life into your flat, Sherlock. Plus, I don't want to be in the way of anything that you're working on."

"If I recall, you let me 'get in the way' for almost six months."

Molly blushed; he was recalling the time they spent together in her flat, before he tracked down Moriarty's network.

"That was an interesting time in my life."

Sherlock hummed a yes and bent sideways to retrieve his violin, "How are you still awake, Molly?"

She shrugged her shoulders, "Afraid to go to sleep I guess."

He stood, placing his violin back on the table and held a hand out to her, "Come on then."

"Come on what?"

"Let's go to bed."

She blushed again, "Sherlock, you remember the last time I got in bed with you," she rubbed at her face absentmindedly.

"Yes, but if I recall once again, that's not the first time you've been in bed with me."

She looked up at him and saw that dark look return to his eyes, she wasn't sure if he was referring to their night together or not, but for now she would stay silent about it.

He led her to the bedroom and once she was settled he lay down next to her.

She curled on her side, while he lay on his back—she had so many questions to ask him, but couldn't find the courage to do so.

"Will you sleep?"

"Do you want me to?"

"What kind of question is that?"

He turned to face her, "Just sleep, Molly."

She turned on her side facing away from him, if she lay toward him she would just lay awake watching his chest move up and down, or the way his eye lashes fluttered when he blinked.

Although she would go to bed every night with him on his back, when she woke in the morning he would be pressed up against her back, while his arms were wrapped around her waist.

It was the most comforting and normal gesture that he was able to give her. Neither one of them would ever mention it though, just like they didn't mention that night.

* * *

When she woke the next morning she discovered that Sherlock was already out of bed, however she noticed a small note was left in bed next to her.

She smiled at his thoughtful gesture, she never placed him for being overly sentimental, but as long as he was being nice…. Her face fell when she read the note, her heart raced as she scrambled out of bed in search of the consulting detective.

The note that fluttered innocently to the ground simply read, "I see you."

* * *

He wasn't where she thought he'd be, so after grabbing her coat and shoes, she ran down the stairs only to run face first into him.

He grabbed her arms to steady her on the stairs, and quickly dropped the bags of groceries he was holding. She quickly thought how sweet it was for him to grab milk and eggs, but then turned her mind to other pressing news.

"Sherlock! Someone has been in our house!"

He frowned, but not before noticing the term "our" placed in the sentence. She led him back upstairs and he read the note. He crumpled it angrily in his hand and took out his phone, firing off a quick text to Mycroft.

"Gather your things, Molly. I'm afraid Baker Street isn't safe for you anymore."

"W-What about you?"

He frowned at her stumble but continued, "I'm coming with you of course, and I wouldn't protect you just to leave you to fend for yourself."

She quickly stood on her toes and kissed him on the cheek, "Thank you."

With that she ran into her bedroom, gathering her few small possessions and the clothes she had recently acquired.

He did the same, walking into his bedroom after pulling a duffel bag out of a nearby closet. He couldn't remember the last time he had voluntarily left Baker Street, and felt a sense of unease at having to do it now.

He quickly walked down to Mrs. Hudson and informed her of their plan. He gave his elderly landlady enough money to set herself up in a comfortable hotel for a few days, at least until the coast was clear.

Going back upstairs he gathered the reminder of his items grabbed her small suitcase, and ushered her and Toby out the front door.

"We'll need to drop him off with John and Mary, and also borrow Mary's car."

"Where will we be going?"

He didn't answer her immediately, but hailed a taxi and cited John's address to the cabbie. He was quiet for a moment more before answering, "My parents have a small cottage near Cambridge. I think it will serve us well for a few days."

Molly blushed again, while holding Toby close to her face. She would be alone in a cottage with Sherlock. No Mrs. Hudson, no John. She shuddered at the thought, causing a look of concern from the detective who was sitting across from her texting on his phone.

She smiled at him and looked out the window, hoping to break his stare. It wasn't that she didn't want to stay with him alone, honestly she was nervous.

When they arrived at John's, Sherlock quickly explained the situation to them. Mary was the first to offer her car, and the next thing Molly knew, she was sitting in the passenger seat while Sherlock navigated the busy streets of London.

"I didn't realize that you knew how to drive."

He glanced sideways at her, "and why wouldn't I? It's customary for youth to learn how to drive… and remember my parents lived in the countryside."

She nodded and suppressed a yawn. It wasn't a long drive to Cambridge, about an hour—but she knew they wouldn't be going into the city. Sherlock had made it sound like the cottage was on the outskirts. She was hoping that it would be secluded.

She thought for a moment of calling Tom, but quickly brushed it aside. She knew she wasn't happy in that relationship and hadn't been wearing her ring for weeks. She also hadn't returned any of his calls, texts or notes. Her problem with Tom was that he wasn't Sherlock. She was okay with admitting that to herself now.

She glanced quickly at Sherlock who was concentrating on the road. Sure he was stubborn, and rude and at times completely odd, but she loved that about him. He filled the empty spots in her soul. She knew he cared about her to some extent, but she wasn't sure as to what.

As if reading her thoughts, Sherlock took his hand and tentatively placed it on hers. She let him interlock her fingers with his, and he gave her hand small squeeze.

"You shouldn't think so much, Molly Hooper… I won't let anything happen to you."

His words were a comfort to her, and for the reminder of the ride he didn't let her go.

* * *

Thanks for the kind reviews everyone. This chapter was hard for me to spit out. I want to show the connection that Sherlock and Molly have with each other and I wanted to advance the story.

I hope you are enjoying!


	6. Chapter 6

The stress of the day and the rain outside caused Molly to doze while in route to Sherlock's parent's cottage. Sherlock looked down at their closed hands. She had fallen asleep slumped toward him, still holding tightly to him.

It was raining still when they arrived, so after parking he slid on his Belstaff and walked to the other side of the car. He gently lifted her up, doing his best to keep her dry.

The sudden movement caused her to stir, and she looked up at him as he carried her inside.

"You didn't have to do that."

"It's not about having to do something, Molly… it's about wanting to."

She smiled as he set her down on the small green sofa. She looked around quickly, taking in the small cottage. It was littered in trinkets and pictures. She immediately fell in love with it.

Sherlock walked back outside into the rain to grab the luggage, and when he came back inside his hair was sticking to his forehead.

"You're soaked."

Molly rose from the couch and grabbed the small bag from him, "Our luggage could have waited."

She helped him slip out of his coat and then made her way to the kitchen in an attempt to make some tea.

After some digging she found a pot and a kettle and some loose leaves that smelled faintly of cherry. She looked back out into the living room to see Sherlock stripping off his suit jacket that was also drenched.

After a few moments she reemerged with two steaming cups. She handed him one and he nodded in appreciation.

"You need to put on some dry clothes."

He nodded and set his tea cup down on the table as he reached for the bag. After some digging he pulled a plain white t-shirt from the bag, along with a black pair of pajama pants.

"Let me help you."

She stood and helped him peel off his dress shirt and was greeted by the sight of his surprisingly tone physique.

Sherlock hid an attractive body under so many layers of clothes, and now she was thanking her lucky stars that she could freely run her hand down it, while she helped him dry off.

"Molly…" the deep tone in his voice caused her to look up at him. Here she was in the dimly lit cottage that his parents owned, looking up at the man who took her breath away.

She gasped quietly when she felt his hand slide around her waist, pulling her closer to him. He never broke eye contact as her chest was pulled flush against his.

She was only wearing a thin t-shirt, but she could feel the heat from his body pulsing against hers. She leaned further into him as his hand traveled up her spine and into her hair—turning her head slowly; he leaned down tentatively and placed a delicate kiss on her lips.

She had kissed Sherlock Holmes before, but never like this. He was beyond gentle, his body humming with life.

Molly knew this kiss wouldn't end with them spending the night together again- at least not tonight- but she knew it held a promise as to what would come in the future.

He deepened the kiss slightly causing the smallest moan to escape her—that seemed to trigger a reaction in him, and he held her tighter—suddenly becoming a little more aggressive with the kiss.

After a few moments they broke apart—mainly for the need of air. He rested his forehead against hers, his arms still tightly wrapped around her waist.

"Forgive me, Molly… I realize you are still engaged."

Molly frowned and leaned back a little so that she could see his face, "Why would you apologize?"

She absentmindedly rubbed her face, "I think you knocking Tom in the jaw was the wakeup punch I needed as well."

"You're not always going to be safe with me," he murmured—the panic in his eyes apparent as he looked down at her.

"I am safest when I'm with you. I don't know anyone else in this world that would go through so much trouble just to keep me safe."

"By the way…" he began slowly, "I haven't forgotten what transpired between us on my last night together."

An instant blush blazed on her cheeks, so… he hadn't forgotten.

"If it hadn't meant anything to me, I wouldn't have kept constant contact with you while I was away."

He stopped and ran his hand down her spine, "I'm not good with sentiment, Molly Hooper—but understand it wasn't my intention to hurt you, or to shut you out. Those last six months, I was in Serbia—and the conditions I was surrounded by weren't the kind that would allow for texting."

He was referring to the last six months before he showed up in the locker room at St. Bart's… Sherlock had texted her every week since he had left—but those last six months were silent.

Molly figured the worst had happened to him, or that he simply didn't care anymore—during that time she had met Tom—and a quick engagement had happened shortly after.

Deep down she felt the engagement was a way of putting her feeling for Sherlock to the side—if he didn't care for her, than she would move on.

However she had been completely wrong.

Tears formed in her eyes at the thought, and suddenly she was hugging him tight again. She realized now that all she ever wanted was for him to be honest and open with her—she felt lost and hurt when their communication suddenly stopped, and now—here he was confirming that all her fears were for nothing.

He wrapped his strong arms around her and held her in a comfortably silent hug.

She knew this was the beginning of something new between her and Sherlock—she wasn't sure what she would be to him, but as long as she was _with_ him—that was all that mattered.

Sherlock shivering brought them out of their trance and he smiled as they broke apart, "I'll go and shower."

She nodded and watched his form retreat down the hall. When she was certain that he was showering she took out her cell and texted Tom.

"We need to talk."

Within 30 seconds her mobile was ringing and she picked up, dreading what was about to happen.

"Molly! I'm so glad you texted me! Listen I am so sorr-"

She cut him off, "Tom, this isn't easy for me… but we need to call off our engagement."

She was greeted with silence, and then after a moment his voice came through weakly, "You don't want to marry me anymore?"

Her heart broke at the sound of defeat in his voice, "It's because of him… isn't it?"

"No... Tom, listen…"

"No, Molly, it's okay. I screwed up. You had a history with him- one that doesn't take Sherlock Holmes to figure out what happened between you too."

"I'll return your ring when I get back into town."

"Get back? Where are you?"

"Staying outside of Cambridge, things aren't quite safe in London right now."

He was silent for another moment, but she heard him sigh.

"Tom, I'm so sorry."

"I should have never laid my hands on you. I never thought I would be that jealous and defensive."

She said nothing, but let him continue, "I hope you'll be happy together."

With that he disconnected the call. Molly's heart broke for him, but she knew it would be okay—this is what should have happened the minute Sherlock appeared in her life again.

She had given her heart to him so long ago—and as much as she tried, she couldn't give it to anyone but him.

Sherlock emerged from the shower wearing his black pajama pants while towel drying his hair. His chest was gloriously bear and his calm demeanor changed when he saw the look in her eyes.

"You talked to Tom, didn't you?"

"I figured he deserved to know the truth."

He nodded and leaned against the arm of the sofa, "I know I've hurt you in the past—but I will never hurt you like he did, Molly."

For the umpteenth time that time, Molly felt her eyes water. She knew how difficult it was for Sherlock to be sentimental—but he was trying.

* * *

"Where is she staying?"

The voice sounded foreign, yet familiar—but the gun cocked at the back of Tom's head caused a quick answer.

"She's with him, near Cambridge."

Hi everyone!

Here is the latest. Enjoy! I love your reviews.

Sorry the chapter is short, I'm moving into a townhome this week- so I'm a busy bee.


	7. Chapter 7

Sleeping next to Sherlock Holmes was more of a joy than Molly could explain. He rarely slept, but when he did his body was so exhausted that he fell into a deep and peaceful sleep. During times like these Molly could tell how young he was. Sure, he was 35… but the boyish demeanor overtook him anytime he was completely at rest.

What Molly liked most of all was that he would unconsciously reach for her anytime she strayed too far on the bed.

Now, she was nestled into the crook of his arm, and her face nuzzled into his neck. The faint lingering odor of peppermint and tobacco smoke was an intoxicating scent that caused her to burrow further into his neck.

She couldn't remember the last time she was this happy.

Her nuzzling caused the consulting detective to stir and her turned and looked at her with a sleepy smile, "You're up early."

His voice was an octave deeper than usual—and she attributed that to his still sleepy form.

Molly turned and looked out the small window of the cottage—the sun hadn't risen yet, but the sky was already starting to light up.

"I couldn't sleep"

He lifted himself up on one elbow and looked down at her, "Couldn't sleep… Oh, I see."

She smiled, he seemed to be in a playful mood which was rare beyond words—but she wasn't going to question that now.

He leaned down slowly and captured her lips with his. This wasn't the hesitant gentle kiss from the night before; this was powerful—and sent a shiver running up her spine.

He wasn't shy anymore—he knew what he wanted, and for the first time he could say that what he wanted was Molly Hooper—and everything she brought to his life.

He deepened the kiss causing her to moan softly with delight, she wasn't shy or embarrassed around him—she trusted him, and she had previously been intimate with him in the past.

He was leaning at an awkward angle; his body wasn't touching hers—except for his mouth. She was lying down, and he was leaning across her.

She slid so that he could rest his torso on her, and at the feel of his skin, Molly sighed in pleasure.

Once he was in a better position his hands began to move—he ran one across the bottom hem of her t-shirt and the other up her arm.

After a moment she felt his hand lift the bottom of her shirt and slide onto her stomach.

His hand slid across her stomach and ran up her side, stopping when he realized she wasn't wearing a bra.

She smiled against his lips, giving him the silent okay to touch her.

Carefully, he moved his strong hand across her chest, not stopping and resting or giving particular attention to either breast.

The touching and teasing caused Molly to wiggle in anticipation, "Oh, Doctor Hooper… I think this shirt just needs to come off."

She laughed, he was being so bold!

He leaned down slowly and helped her out of her shirt—molly instantly blushed, because for the first time in years, she was completely vulnerable and open in front of the must detail-oriented man she knew.

She knew how his eyes would take in every detail and right now they were raking themselves over her torso.

She was just about to cross her arms over her chest when he leaned down and placed a light kiss on top of her chest.

"Please forgive any comments I said in the past about your chest being too small, it's definitely not too small."

She smiled, that had been a horrible night for her—his deductions could hurt, or leave you breathless.

He was leaning in to kiss her again when his mobile buzzed.

"Just ignore it."

He started to lean in again when a text message came through, "Oh good lord."

"It's alright, Sherlock... you should answer it."

He looked down at her reluctantly and then rolled off the bed in a sigh.

"Brilliant"

She looked up at him as he scanned his text messages.

"John says Mycroft may stop by."

"How is that brilliant then?"

"Complete sarcasm on my part."

She smiled and reached for her shirt—she suddenly felt very exposed.

Leaning forward to grab her shirt, she squinted as the rising sun caught a reflective piece of glass that was sitting on a nearby book shelf.

Standing, she walked over and looked down at a much younger Sherlock with his arms wrapped around a beautiful, golden red, Irish setter.

She slowly picked up the photo and smiled at the gigantic smile on younger Sherlock's face. Even today, she hadn't seen him that happy—unless he was working on a particularly interesting murder.

"Redbeard."

The sudden emotion in his voice caused her to turn around, still holding the frame.

He took it from her hands and looked down, "I didn't realize my mum still had this."

He silently ran his thumb across the photo and Molly caught the younger side of Sherlock once more. His eyes were slightly glassed over, a ghost of a smile on his face, "You've never mentioned him."

He looked up at her, while still holding the frame tightly to him, "No, I wouldn't have… but once again the world see's, but they do not observe."

He put the frame down and held his hand out to Molly; she looked at it for a moment before he encouraged her to take it. Holding his palm face up, Molly noticed for the first time that there was a black mark near the base of his ring finger. When she held his hand closer to her face, she finally noticed what it said.

In small delicate ink were the letters 'RB'.

"RB…Redbeard?"

"Having a brother like Mycroft causes you to fend for yourself… Redbeard was the only friend I had in the world."

She closed her hand tight around his, he looked very vulnerable and Molly realized that he was probably the first person that he was sharing these intimate details with.

"You're not alone in this world, Sherlock Holmes. You have people who love you."

She stopped when she realized what she was saying, "Including me."

Her small confession caused him to look at her directly in the eyes, "You shouldn't love me, Molly."

Her smile fell at his words, "Why?"

He looked back at his frame, "The last thing that loved me was put down... and I couldn't bear it if something happened to you too."

She was about to speak when he continued, "You are the voice inside of my head. When I was alone, I thought of you- when I was cold and hungry, I thought about how warm your bed was the night before I left. I don't need anyone in my life to feel complete—but I've come to realize, that I need you."

He spoke his words quietly and quickly—he never let many see the man behind the coat. He was Sherlock Holmes, a rude arrogant ass who took what he needed and left others to find their way. He also knew he was wrong in the statement, he had the love of John, Mrs. Hudson... even Lestrade… and now Molly.

Over the years he had opened up more, bashing that American in the face and then throwing him out the window when he touched Mrs. Hudson, making the ultimate sacrifice off the roof of St. Bart's because he couldn't let anything happen to those he cared for most in the world.

As much as he wanted to remain without sentiment in his life—he knew he couldn't.

"I love you, Molly Hooper."

"Oh, Sherlock" her voice cracked at the words—she thought she knew love with Tom, but nothing could prepare her for this intense sensation.

He kissed her soundly, still holding the picture of Redbeard in his hands, "I love you too," she whispered against his lips.

He picked her up, in an attempt to take her back to the bed and make love to her—but before he could take two steps he froze.

"Sherlock?"

He shushed her and tuned his head toward the window, "Oh, Christ!"

He yelled the last bit and gently set her down as he ran toward the front door.

It didn't take long before she heard what he had: A helicopter approaching.

She quickly threw on some clothing and ran outside. Sherlock was staring at the helicopter that had landed 100 feet away from the cottage.

"MYCROFT!"

She could hear Sherlock yelling as the helicopter's blades started to slow down. Sherlock's brother had arrived in the highest fashion, no doubt ruining the safety of the small cottage.

Mycroft strode toward the cottage, not taking a moment to address his brother. When he approached Molly he smiled, "Let's have a spot of tea, yes?"

She half-nodded and watched as he made his way inside. She turned and looked at Sherlock whose face was a fit of fury.

"I hate it when he does this. He always does this!"

He grabbed her hand and stormed inside. Mycroft was now in the kitchen, sitting cross-legged on a chair, waiting for the kettle to heat up.

"Sorry, did I interrupt something this morning?"

"Why. Are. You. Here."

Sherlock spit the words out in a venomous matter, his eyes were blazing wildly and Molly could tell how much his presence was bothering him.

"I've been keeping my eye out for you, little brother."

Sherlock sat in the chair opposite him while Molly brewed some tea, "and now the safety of this cottage has been jeopardized because you couldn't show up in just a car."

"We're not safe anymore?"

Molly's voice sounded small—and Sherlock cringed at the fear that was laced in it.

"No, and it never was," Mycroft piped in.

He thanked Molly when she sat a cup of tea down in front of him, "I'll take you to a safe house, but Sherlock I need you with me."

"No. There's no way I'm leaving her alone."

Molly looked to Sherlock's whose eyes were fixed on his brothers. His fists were clenching slightly.

"Sherlock, I'll be fine."

"No, Molly. I said I wouldn't let anything happen to you, and that's that."

"Then she'll have to return to Baker Street with you."

"Why would we return to Baker Street?"

"Because, we're trying to lure Moriarty out of hiding."

Sherlock froze. Jim Moriarty? As in the Jim who had shot himself on the roof of St. Bart's? He had a feeling the entire time, but he wasn't exactly sure until now. Mycroft would have no reason to lie to him.

"It seems her ex-fiancée had a run in with him."

Molly's face froze with fear, "Oh, God is Tom okay?"

"He will be… he's resting now... but police were able to get one single word from him."

"Moriarty."

At that exact moment, Sherlock's mobile buzzed.

He grabbed it from his pajama pocket and saw he had received a text from a blocked number.

_Very good! It took the smarter Holmes brother to figure out. How disappointing, Sherlock._

_Where are you?-SH_

_Wouldn't you like to know? We'll meet soon… let's call it a date, shall we?_

Sherlock held the phone up and let Mycroft scan it over.

"We need to get John, Mary and Mrs. Hudson into safe homes," he said sharply.

Mycroft began to speak but Sherlock cut him off, "Now."

Sherlock turned to Molly whose face was beginning to worry, "I don't care what happens, I'm not letting you out of my sight. Honestly, I think we'll all go into the safe house for now. We need to find a way to win this war against him—and pulling him out of his corner won't be any use if we don't have a plan set in motion."

"Hopefully this will be nothing like LAZARUS," Mycroft chimed in.

"Not this time, brother mine."

* * *

Jim Moriarty was a patient man; he loved the game and therefore would wait. He would wait until the perfect moment and then he would strike. Like a viper.

Tom had been easy, almost pathetic. He had been tracking Sherlock and after that explosion outside his flat between Molly and Tom—he had realized exactly what his pressure point was.

So, the mousy little pathologist did pull on the heart strings of the world's only consulting detective. He honestly thought he was clever coming up with the virgin nickname, but now—that theory was blown out the window.

So someone managed to break the ice of Sherlock's heart—John had succeeded in doing most of it, but Molly- Molly was the true key to unlocking the mystery underneath.

He puffed on a cigarette while watching the scene unfold in a small cottage nearby; little did they know he was closer than they thought.

They would be safe for now, at least until he was ready to play.

* * *

_Hi everyone! I hope you have enjoyed. I am getting to the goods… so no worries there! Sherlock is hard to write. I absolutely love the show, so I'm hoping I'm staying in character as much as I can. I love your reviews! Thanks again!_


	8. Chapter 8

The night had turned cold, and the glass window looking out into the world was starting to frost over. He hated this, hated having to leave the comfort and safety of London in order to bring this case to a close.

Sherlock looked down at the young woman nestled in his lap. Molly had originally fallen asleep against the opposite window of the car, but had soon slumped down and was now curled up in his lap, a small smile on her face.

They were being driven by one of Mycroft's men- John, Mary and Mrs. Hudson were in the car behind them. John had wanted to talk, come up with a plan- but Sherlock wanted nothing more than to sit here alone in this government vehicle idly stroking Molly's untamed hair.

He knew where they were going, only because he had threatened his brother. The drive was far and the further out into the country they drove, the colder it was becoming. He looked back constantly to make sure he could see the headlights from the other vehicle. Not only did he want Molly safe, he needed everyone safe as well.

She stirred slightly and whispered something incoherent—while a small smile graced her delicate features. He couldn't believe it had taken her engagement to knock some sense into him. He wasn't sure when his feelings for Molly had shifted, but if he had to pin it down—he would say the night she selflessly gave herself to him for help. Moriarty wanted to turn everyone against him, but Molly had stood by his side—kept his secret safe despite the pressures and hardships she had to endure every day to keep his secret safe. That last night they had been together—he had watched her go into the bedroom with hesitation. She had wanted to ask where he was going and how he would go about tracking down Moriarty's network—but she hadn't.

He initially went into the bedroom to say goodbye, he wanted her to know how thankful he was for her help—and that he could had never done anything without her. He had wrestled with himself then—he wanted a strong memory to stick in his mind. He wanted to feel her soft lips just once—so that on dark nights he could think about that for comfort.

He also wasn't sure if he'd ever see her again.

And then it happened, kissing turned into making love—and love it had been. Sherlock had been careful with her, gentle. The surprised look on her face almost hurt, but then he realized she would have never expected something like this to happen between them. When she responded though—he couldn't help but take her.

That memory had kept him warm while he endured dark, dank living situations. The memory of her soft moans and searing kisses kept him alive. He had to get back to her.

Although she didn't know, while she lay asleep that next morning, he had kissed her silently and whispered against her skin that he loved her. He knew she wouldn't remember, knew she would be disappointed when she woke up alone—but he had to get it out in the open—just in case he never returned.

Now, over two years later—here he was. Riding silently in a government issued vehicle with the small pathologist curled up in his lap. He was right when he told Mycroft he wouldn't leave her alone.

He couldn't. He needed to know she was safe, and despite half of the British government keeping an eye on them—he didn't feel safe unless _he_ was the one doing the protecting.

The loss of movement in the car caused Molly to stir once more and she opened one eye to look up at him sleepily, "Are we here?"

"I'm not sure, stay inside."

At his harsh tone she frowned and he mentally cursed himself for being so cross, "I don't want you getting cold, Molly."

He leaned down and pressed a small kiss to her cheek—and he knew he was in the clear. The smile that lit up her eyes told him he could leave her in the car without a fight.

He pulled his Belstaff closer and walked outside. It was dark, but a few feet away a small house was spilling candlelight into the grass.

He heard grass crunching behind him and turned to see John approaching.

"I guess this is it, then?"

Sherlock turned and looked at John, who was also pulling his coat closer against him.

He was about to tell him he wasn't sure when the driver of the car handed him a small cell phone, "Your brother sir."

Sherlock looked at John and rolled his eyes before addressing Mycroft, "Speak."

"As I'm sure you've deduced this home will be yours for the time being. John, Mary and Mrs. Hudson are stationed at another home just down the road…"

Sherlock was about to interrupt when Mycroft continued, "There's a series of tunnels that connect the two homes together. Actually these homes were designed with safety in mind. If anything were to happen, you'd go underground."

"How brilliant of you."

"Hum, I know—there's enough food and water to manage for a while—but remember Sherlock, I'll need you eventually."

With that he disconnected, knowing Sherlock was going argue with him. Mycroft wouldn't take no for an answer in this case.

"There's another home for you and the girls."

Sherlock motioned to the driver, "Where's the other home?"

"About half a mile from this one, sir."

Sherlock turned to John and briefly explained how the two homes were connected—meaning they could still interact with each other—especially now that no one had a cell phone on them, except for the driver.

"I'll gather Mary and Mrs. Hudson and explain what's going on. You need to take Molly inside before she catches a cold." He motioned his head to Molly who was now leaning against the sleek black car they had arrived in.

"I thought I told you to stay inside."

She smirked, "How often do I listen to Sherlock Holmes?"

He approached her and held his Belstaff up, wrapping her up in it once she got close, "You used to listen quite well to me."

She smiled, "I listen to some things you say."

Sherlock chuckled as they approached the front door to the house. It was small and quaint, but it would definitely do for now.

Inside they found an appealing décor, tasteful furniture, a big enough bed and a refrigerator stocked to the brim with food.

There was also enough tea to brew for all of England.

"Tea?"

Sherlock nodded, "Yes, actually I think that's just what we need."

After a few moments Molly joined Sherlock in the easy chair he was occupying. It was similar to the one at Baker Street and she was now sitting comfortably on the arm of the chair. He wrapped his arm around her waist and took the teacup with a smile.

"OY!"

Molly shrieked and dropped her teacup onto the floor. Looking down they noticed a small flap on the floor open—and John Watson pop his head through.

"This is bloody cool."

"Right, John—perhaps not as much for Molly."

Sherlock stuck his foot out and put pressure on the flap, causing John to go back under the floorboards,

"Tomorrow shall we?"

Sherlock nodded, "Next time, knock!"

Molly frowned at her shattered tea cup on the ground, "Well that's a shame."

Several hours passed and after Molly realized that Sherlock had dipped into his mind palace, she wandered off- exploring the small house.

It had one bedroom, one bathroom and a great bookshelf in the sitting room. She rummaged through it until she pulled a worncopy of "Jane Eyre" off the shelf.

She was now curled up in the chair on the opposite side of the room, reminiscing on earlier times in her life.

She looked over to Sherlock who had his legs crossed and his eyes closed. His fingers were centered at the top of his nose, and at this moment he seemed a million miles away.

She sighed, wondering idly if John and Mary were having more fun than she was.

After several more hours she finally heard him mutter, "Shower."

"Hum, what was that?"

He looked over to her, "I said shower. Would you like one?"

"With you?"

Her cheeks blazed a cherry pink at her words, he looked at her with a confused expression on his face—like he had no idea what she was saying.

"Yes, didn't you hear me?"

"Yes, I heard you—but I mean..."

She hadn't been completely unclothed in front of Sherlock in over two years, and even then it had been in the dark. For her, a shower was much more intimate than sleeping together. You had to be completely comfortable with the other person to shower in front of them.

She was confident in her skin, but she also knew how detailed his eye was. Would he complain about the mole on her back, or the scar on her right shoulder? He probably didn't notice those last time he was with her.

"Molly, if you're worried what I might think or say about your body, please don't. I've been very personal and intimate with your body in the past and even though you think I didn't see everything… I did."

She held her breath, and he continued, "You're beautiful."

He stood and walked toward her while extending one hand, "Now, shower?"

She took his hand hesitantly and let him lead her to the back. He turned the water on and let the room steam up for a moment.

She seemed to be in a trance and wasn't sure why. It was just a shower! There was nothing to be afraid of!

She realized now that she was alone and that a very naked consulting detective was behind the curtain humming to himself and commenting about the type of wash that the shower was stocked with.

She looked down at his clothes which now lay in a little pile on the floor, "Molly?"

She shook her head and slid her shirt over her head—she was being shy—and she hated it.

She threw her shirt onto his pile and then after a big swallow, slid her pants down and shimmied out of those too.

She drew back the curtain a little and was greeted with the glorious sight of Sherlock's side profile. The water was running over his surprisingly hard chest down to his well sculpted legs.

She swallowed again and stepped into the shower, immediately sighing as the hot water hit her chilled skin.

He turned completely toward her—and for the first time she got a real look at him. He stood directly under the faucet, so his normally curled hair was now hanging slightly—while water dripped off the ends. His thin frame was more built more than his clothes gave away.

She was afraid to let her eyesight drop any lower. Sensing her hesitation, he pulled her to him gently—letting the water soak both of them.

She sighed once more at the feel of his heated skin against hers. His hand was now traveling the length of her back—stopping when they reached the small.

Her hands were on his shoulder blades and she smiled when they retracted and flexed under her fingertips.

He reached up and grabbed her chin softly, angling her to face him—and captured her lips in a soft kiss.

Between the combinations of their naked bodies pressed against each other and the glorious feeling of the shower—Molly lost herself for a moment and pressed herself further against him—igniting another reaction within him.

His kiss suddenly became frantic, wanton. He needed to taste her, needed to feel her. His hands developed a mind of their own and were racing up and down her body as his urgent need to feel her went out of control.

He pushed them out from the stream of the shower and onto the back wall of the shower. She looked up at him with surprise when he broke their kiss and let his eyes travel down her body. Here, was Molly Hooper dripping wet, while her dark hair curled around her neck and back.

He leaped forward once more, capturing her lips and after a moment she noticed his hands reaching for the shower curtain.

She pressed herself against him and he groaned when she wrapped a small hand around him.

He lunged for the shower curtain and ripped it open—causing a few rings to pop off the curtain rod. He lifted her from the shower, and she wrapped her legs around his waist—while his mouth never left hers.

His intention was to go to the bedroom, but at this moment he couldn't remember what direction the bedroom was in.

The bathroom was steaming, and the wicked things Molly was doing with her hands was bringing him over the edge.

He pulled open the bathroom door and groaned when Molly started too nimble on his neck. No.. he couldn't make it to the bedroom.

He turned back around and led her into the bathroom. He threw a few towels onto the floor and laid her down gently.

And then… he was inside her.

He couldn't wait.

The mood inside the bathroom suddenly changed from frantic—to something else.

He groaned into her neck. It had been two long years—and finally he was with the woman he called home.

She looked up into his stormy eyes, the emotions betraying his calm demeanor. He began to slowly move and she whimpered softly against his neck.

At first he thought he might be hurting her, but he realized she was feeling overwhelmed like he was. This is what they had both wanted for so long—and had been denied for even longer.

She wrapped her arms around him—her palms resting against his shoulder blades. She was squeezing him so impossibly tight—but it wasn't tight enough. He needed to be closer and pushed himself deeper into her.

She moaned softly and after a few moments he could tell she was nearing her end.

In those soft moments afterwards he recalled the way she suddenly arched her back upward—the way he caught her lips in a soft kiss.

The way she whispered "I love you" against his skin—and the way he showed her time and again that night just how much he loved her.


End file.
